Tumblr HP
by Lady Hallen
Summary: Everything in my tumblr that has something to do with HP, that isn't crossed with anything.
1. Alcohol

**Alcohol**

 **.**

* * *

"There isn't enough alcohol in the world to make me forget," Sirius Black says to Remus one night as they share firewhisky in the kitchen.

Remus nods. "I know. It's just…to numb the pain, right?" he murmurs, looking into the swirling fluid like it held the secrets of the universe.

They knock back two glasses respectively and stare into the ratty, destroyed ceiling. Years of neglect had not done any favors to the once opulent house of the noble and most ancient House of Black.

"I hate this house," he mumbles, the words slipping out of his tongue carelessly. "It's like, this festering cesspool of…terrrrible memories."

Remus shoots him a look of amusement. "Festering cesspool? How much have you had to drink, old friend?"

Sirius is half-tempted to scowl at him, but it really is true. The more drunk he gets, the more verbose and eloquent he gets. It is the cause of more than one amusing event.

"Hmm, half the bottle," Sirius thinks, screwing up his face in thought. "I think so anyway."

Remus laughs quietly into his cup. "That's terrible. I don't know how you do it."

Unsaid, lingering at the back of their minds, is Azkaban. It is a topic neither of them really want to open. It would be like looking into a pit of darkness and wondering to venture inside.

"Harry liked the book we sent him," Remus says, just to break the silence. Harry is a safe topic, somedays. Somedays, Sirius's eyes are too dark with memories of James and speaking about Harry is like jumping up and down on an open vein.

Sirius's eyes sparkle. "Yeah? I thought he might," he murmurs. "I would have liked to have a book like that when I was in Hogwarts."

Remus smirks at him, the memory of the school boy he had been shining through for a moment. "Yeah? Like hexing that really annoying Hufflepuff that kept ambushing you in the corridors for a snog?"

The dog animagi whines. "Remus, why'd you have to do that? I thought I had forgotten that pansy wimp. Though he was a good kisser, now that I think about him."

They laugh again. "What was his name though?" Remus mused. "I think I've heard it before."

Sirius screws up his face. "Merlin, not remembering the name of those who snogged me makes me sound like a manwhore."

They dissolve into laughter again, though still quiet. The house emanates that foreboding feeling and noise just seems to disappear into the woodwork before it could disperse in the air.

Eventually, the firewhisky runs out and things turn dangerously melancholic. For Sirius that is.

"Do you think Prongs would be mad at me, mate?" Sirius asks slowly, voice nearly a mumble. "I mean, I was – am the godfather. Wasn't I supposed to be like, taking care of him?"

Like a brick dropped, Remus's shoulders drooped. "Fuck it, Padfoot. How do you think Prongs would be at me? I didn't have the excuse of being framed. I could have – should have done something about Harry."

Sirius gives him the stink-eye. "Yeah? What with you furry alter-ego wreaking havoc every full moon?"

Remus mouths the words 'wreaking havoc' with some bemusement before saying, "Let's face it, you dog. What's been done is done. Prongs might as well kill us, but…nothing can be changed anymore."

In unison, they both knock back the last of the whisky.


	2. GhostRegulus

**Ghost!Regulus**

 **.**

* * *

"Is that a nice book?"

Harry restrained herself from screaming, _loudly_. She was in Grimmauld Place and supposed to be _alone._

"Who - " she started before cutting herself off. "Wait, Sirius never told me there were ghosts here."

Because the boy-man who'd interrupted her had the look of a ghost, like those in Hogwarts. Transparent and glowing slightly off-white. His features were solid enough that she could just see how handsome he would be, had he been alive.

"I don't think he knew," the man said, voice melodious and soft. He spoke like he was afraid that she would bolt away and run. Harry really wanted to, but she recognized the look in his eyes. This ghost was lonely and just wanted conversation.

Thank Merlin his only sign of death was how... _wet_ he looked. She didn't think she could stand seeing blood stains.

"You didn't show yourself?" she asked tentatively.

He shrugged. "I did not want to. He had enough grief to bury him under. To add me to the mix...would make for a very volatile Sirius."

It was the way he said her godfather's name, caressing the syllables just so and the gentle look on his face that made her connect the dots.

This was Regulus Black, Sirius's little brother. The one who apparently died in Voldemort's service.

"You're Regulus Black," she blurted out before she could think too hard about it.

"Yes," he said. "I'm surprised you know my name."

She wanted to hit him. That guilty, depressed look on his face appeared easily enough that she knew it was probably his default expression when he was still alive.

"He told me about you," she snapped. "How could you not show your face, even if it is a ghostly one? He loved you very much."

His expression shifted to a cynical one. It wasn't any better than the previously guilty look. His face was better suited to smiling. Like Sirius's was better suited to laughing.

"I don't think he did," he said, more to himself than to her. "He always did love Potter more than me. I was no longer his brother by the time I was in Fifth Year."

Ooooh, self-pity. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Harry stood up and poked Regulus in his ghostly chest. The ghost drifted backwards in surprise.

"You never really hate family, you idiot. My cousins family were all beached whales but I can't really hate them. Dislike is the best I could do," she ranted. "And you're Sirius's _brother_. Even if you're just a ghost, you're the imprint of his last wishes."

Regulus smiled then. "You've got Evan's temper on you, little Potter."

"Yeah, so I've heard."

The topic of how Regulus died eventually cropped up. Like, when Kreacher saw his master and started sobbing on his spectral robes. Harry didn't even know the bitter house-elf could cry, let alone give out such a high-pitched shriek.

But it solidified the idea. Ever since his death, Regulus Black didn't show himself to people. Nearly Headless Nick had told her that it was a ghosts prerogative whether to let their loved ones know they were there or not.

Often enough, the ghosts didn't show up for their loved ones.

Most ghosts stayed for revenge, like Moaning Myrtle.

"Why did you stay behind?" she asked him after Kreacher had ran off to wipe his wrinkly old face.

He gave her a look. "Surely you know? I _really_ wanted to see that bastard's face when he saw the fake locket. Sadly, it was Dumbledore who figured it out first."

She hated that Regulus was a ghost. Because she really wanted to hit him. Dumbledore _died_ because of that locket.

"Vindictiveness," she muttered. "Peachy. At least it isn't for some petty reason like Myrtles."

Now, Harry thought when Kreacher came back with a shining, happy face. I just have to get used to the idea of _living_ with a ghost. A ghost who was raised a pureblood and let out an indignant shriek of horror when he finally saw what she was wearing.

"Are you wearing tartan? And what on Merlin's name have you done to your nails? Did you bite them?" he started to rant.

Harry really _really_ wanted to hit him.


	3. The Sanctuary and The Bar

**The Sanctuary and The Bar**

 **.**

* * *

Tom stared up at the gates of the manor and felt a sudden flash of hatred. Why was everything so grand here when he had to starve at the Orphanage?

He buried it with practiced ease and opened the gate. There was no lawn, just a riot of a garden and a lot of animals, magical or otherwise. They raced past him but he could have sworn that one of them looked at him beadily.

A knock on the hardwood door and a girl opened it, barely past toddler-hood but eyes wise enough to be an old woman.

"Yeth?" she lisped.

Tom felt a bit wrong-footed but continued, "I was told this was a place…I can go to if I don't want to go home?"

The girl blinked before turning around and yelling, "Papa Harry! You got 'nuther one!"

"Marie! No yelling inside the house!" a young woman's voice yelled back.

"You're yelling thoo!" she muttered.

The girl frowned at whoever it was and glanced back at him. Tom didn't – refused to fidget.

"Inside, or you'll let the chicken's in," she said, pulling at his sleeves. "Ms. Daisy would have to chase it again, and she's scary when she's angry."

Tom wondered who Ms. Daisy was but kept silent. The entire thing was starting to feel like a mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have come in here?

But then a man came down the stairs, holding another baby and looking exasperated. The entire house had the background noise of bickering and laughter, a bit like the Orphanage, except this one was a bit…warmer.

"Oh, another boarder?" he was asked. "Would you like the Rose wing or the Lily wing?"

Tom's bad temper might be excused for being exhausted. Mostly, he was tired of being so confused.

"I was told to come here by…a classmate. He said that you'd take anyone in," Tom said, barely restraining his temper.

And the man looked at him properly, frowning a little. He handed the baby to the toddler and patted their heads. The children took it as a signal to continue moving. Tom found himself being led to a living room through a side door. He didn't even notice it was there.

"My name is Harry," the man said. "This is my house. I created this house because, after I was orphaned by my parents' death, I found myself with my muggle relatives. So I thought, what would I do after school? I made this place, where anyone under seventeen can stay, so long as they abide by the rules."

Tom found it reasonable, if a bit too perfect.

"What do you get out of this?" he demanded. He had to. Nothing this wonderful ever came for free.

Harry didn't look away from his clasped hands. "Companionship, I suppose. It's a terrible thing, to live alone Tom."

Tom didn't notice that he'd never told Harry his name. He was too busy wondering what the catch was.

"What are your rules?" he demanded.

"Well," Harry said slowly. "To be clean, I suppose. No slobs. Nobody being too messy. It's easier for those above eleven, because they can cast spells to clean up, but being clean is a must here. And someone has to cook. I'm afraid I can't cook to save my life. I can take a turn for chasing after the animals for some poultry or meat, but I really can't cook. The Laundry Room has instructions and you just have to leave the room as it was. No spellwork in the house, but you can do it in the backyard, just aim away from the fruit trees."

It was simple. Basic decency plotted out in bullet points, but Tom committed them all to memory. You never knew if any of the rules would ever change and it was simply self-defense to know everything.

"So you'll stay here?" Harry asked after Tom had been silent for too long.

Tom nodded. What choice did he have?

"Good. Ms. Daisy will take care of you."

.

* * *

.

Ms. Daisy, it turned out, was a harried sixteen year old and one of the oldest of the boarders. Harried, because everyone seemed to delight in flocking to her and asking her questions.

"This is the Sanctuary," Daisy said, looking a bit calmer now in the absence of the other children. "Everybody below seventeen can come here."

"Why seventeen?" he had to ask.

"Wizards mature at seventeen. You can cast spells outside of school without the Ministry knowing," she said. "And, Master Harry created this Sanctuary without the Ministry's knowledge, so we have to be really careful."

Now that was a surprise to Tom, given the number of children in the house, he'd have assumed the place was as warded as Hogwarts.

"What? Why?" he blurted out.

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Some stupid Pureblood thing about children belonging to their families. Most of us here are runaways from our Muggle relatives. The few purebloods…well, there's a reason we have a medical wing. Not all wizards are nice."

The implications chilled Tom. Not only was the idea of it frightening, but he was finally understanding some bits of Harry's motivations.

"Who made that law?" he had to wonder. "You'd think some people would have common sense."

Daisy smirked. "Master Harry's favorite saying is that, "Magic apparently makes wizards act all wonky, forgetting there are easier ways to go about it."

Tom had to laugh, remembering his first year in Hogwarts.

Daisy finally stopped in front of an innocuous door labeled 'Pantry'. She twisted and wiggled the door knob and pushed. It opened into a wide, _wide_ corridor that branched in two different directions. One was marked Rose and the other was marked Lily.

Tom's eyes goggled. It defied the law of physics. He'd never seen _any_ room in Hogwarts like that. The proportions to the room defied the dimensions inside it.

"Undetectable Extension Charm," Daisy announced proudly. "Because we couldn't fit in the guestrooms anymore and people kept coming, so Master Harry made this."

Instead of being awe inspiring, it felt homey. The wooden floors were polished but a bit scuffed. The windows showed the backyard. No expensive vases sat anywhere, but there were drawers by every door to hold shoes and other things.

"You put your keys in here," she explained. "People like their privacy, but some of us are rather young, so we keep it here so we don't lose it. And the keys stay inside. Only Master Harry can open your room."

He could understand why, given that all the occupants in the Sanctuary were underage.

At the end of the corridor, a massive bathroom was there, holding nearly fifteen shower stalls and one large pool. It steamed invitingly.

Tom had to hold back a whimper. Travelling for so long had left him sore and the very idea of all that enchanted hot water…

"Go on," Daisy said. "We'll do introductions later."

Tom could remember undressing, but he doesn't remember falling asleep in the water, or being picked up by an exasperated Harry, muttering under his breath about 'adorable, teenage dark lords'.

.

* * *

.

Tom was a bit more coherent for the rest of the tour, the next day.

He was woken up by brisk knocking, a smile and a quick question of, "Coffee, tea or chocolate?" He didn't know what he'd mumbled back, but he drank chocolate and the sugar was enough to wake him up.

He stumbled with the rest of the children down to the hall and into the main house, careful not to bump into anyone. The Grand Dining Hall somehow lost its grand-ness despite how large it was simply due to the sheer amount of children. Tom counted forty and he's pretty sure that he lost count and miscounted somewhere. (There was a pair of twins, he was sure of it.)

"Gather round, Aggie cooked!" Master Harry said. He didn't shout, but everyone perked up and sat properly.

Food was passed along, simple but filling. He supposed that with how everyone was too young, cooking complicated food must have been a risk.

"We've got a new arrival," Master Harry continued, buttering his toast. "And I won't ask you to be nice. I will ask you to be polite. Teach him the ropes here."

"Yes, Master Harry," they mumbled into the porridge. Tom wanted to sink into his chair but willed himself to stay upright. He wasn't ashamed of anything!

A boy approached him at the end of it, tall enough to be seventeen but Tom knew him to be younger. Maybe fifteen.

"I'll show you the main house," he said. "Call me Jasper."

Tom was led around to the Potion's Laboratory, the Library, the Greenhouse and Master Harry's Office. There was also the Laundry Room, the Kitchen and the real Pantry.

All the while, he was peppered with explanations.

"Most of us here have no money," Jasper explained. "We grow everything and Master Harry tries to provide, but we're a lot and he's only one man. So we brew potions. The ones who can manage, anyway. There's a shop in Knockturn who's got a contract with us. He gets all our potions and he doesn't have to brew anything himself. Of course, the more complicated ones go to Master Harry, but the simple ones we can manage."

Tom wrinkled his nose at potions but kept silent.

"When we're nearing our seventeenth birthday, Master Harry suddenly gets us an apprenticeship to wherever we want. It works okay so we don't get lost outside."

The very idea of losing oneself in the Sanctuary being a probability was understandable. It was a large house, not even counting the dorms. The Greenhouse, the Library and the Potions Laboratory were larger than Hogwarts's own. The children were like a community of themselves.

"An apprenticeship?" he prodded, because that explanation was incomplete.

"He knows a lot of people, Master Harry does," Jasper said. "And those people take us in as favors. Some save enough money just to get by so that they can work somewhere else. Others take their masters in that field."

At Tom's look of incomprehension, Jasper elaborated further. "There's Medicine, Education, Alchemy, Potions, Runes, Astronomy and three more. Dumbledore's got a mastery in Transfiguration. Someone named Scamander got titled Beast Master because he's met every creature there is. They get paid really good to write things, or teach, or just lecture people."

"Does Master Harry have a mastery at anything?" Tom had to ask.

Jasper smirked. "You have no idea how long we've been asking that question. Jenna even said that Master Harry likely has a mastery on that rumored tenth subject."

.

* * *

.

The Sanctuary was a confusing mass of hidden doors and secret passage ways. It was as bad as Hogwarts. No, it was worse than Hogwarts. Tom never even knew that the rug under his room would lead straight to the bathroom and drop him in the middle of the pool.

It was impossible, it looped space and it gave him a headache. Some days, Tom hated the Sanctuary.

Some days, Tom loved it. Like when Master Harry found time and lectured in the library. There weren't supposed to be enough chairs (fifty-two children, he counted!), but the room made do and everyone kept quiet to listen.

"All magic is a matter of will," Master Harry lectured. "I know you'll hear this in Hogwarts, or in Beauxbatons, that magic is a matter of power, but I know that all that matters is your will. Power comes from your spirit and your spirit comes from your will. The greatest magic I've ever found is a young one summoning their favorite toy. Simple enough, but once you think about it, children are the most magical things in the world. Never let anybody tell you different."

Master Harry's lectures often gave Tom headache's too.

But he loved it. He had friends, he had squabbles that were just that and not mortal enemies. He didn't go cold and wasn't scolded for making a mess of the garden with the animals.

Tom got his Hogwarts letter for the second year and jolted a little. He had actually forgotten the world outside. The Sanctuary hadn't made him forget about the outside world, but he'd been having too fun to remember Hogwarts.

Master Harry received the owl with a puzzled look.

"Do you like to go shopping with me then?" he inquired. "This is the earliest I've ever seen a letter, your birthday is rather early. You could have mentioned something. Either way, we could all go now and save us the hassle. Everyone will get theirs in due time, I have the list memorized. We can get the books later."

It turned out, buying in Diagon Alley meant that Master Harry really had memorized their lists. Out of the fifty-two children, thirty-six were eligible for school. Almost half of that went to other schools. Only a handful went to Hogwarts.

For people with very little money, it was a juggle of Arithmancy and timing. Daisy almost seemed to have a preternatural ability to notice bargain sales and Jasper had the eyes of a cat for secondhand clothes that weren't too embarrassing.

Tom prided himself on keeping up. He reminded the others about cauldrons, ingredients and wands. Everything was saved for the wands of the eleven year olds.

Tom noticed the pinched look on Harry's face and vowed to help even more.

.

* * *

.

"We're pretty good tailors," Jenna said with a smile. "Bolts of cloth are cheaper in the muggle world and we do sell some of our produce there. We get higher yield or something. Once, someone even broke into that muggle….bloodbank? and sold it to the vampires. Master Harry scolded him for stealing, but not for the selling. We still leave that as a last resort."

"That's genius," Tom muttered, mind working a mile a minute. "I mean, there's a lot of homeless people in London, the younger street rats. We can pay them money in blood and sell it to the vampires for a higher amount. Disguise it as a blood donation."

Jenna and the others squinted at him.

"Let's ask Master Harry," the younger boy-Balen volunteered. "Maybe he'd have something to add."

Master Harry didn't disagree, actually.

"You can run a bar, actually," Master Harry said slowly. "But you'd have to be very careful. Vampires are a lot stronger than wizards. You'd have to set up careful wards for it. It will work. Do you want my help or do you want to do it by yourselves?"

They wanted his help. So Master Harry purchased property in Knockturn Alley, furnished it and had it warded. Meanwhile, they spread the news of a blood donation offering money to the street urchins, the homeless and the desperate.

Tom had to learn about blood transfusions and safe needles and all. He followed everything to the letter, but when the donation store front closed, he would transfer the blood in sterilized bottles of wine and label it with the blood type, age and the date it was extracted.

When they got to about fifty bottles, they opened the bar and set the older children to man it.

They got their first customer, who chortled at the menu.

"That's rather cheap, little wizard," the vampire said. "But who am I to complain. One bottle of a child's blood please. Younger than five would be wonderful."

Jasper complained at the creepy clientele but pressed on. Because for the first time in a while, the Sanctuary had enough funds to not buy secondhand clothes. Everybody agreed to keep on buying the secondhand books, but clothes were another issue.

And finally, they heard Master Harry laugh.

"That's nice," Daisy murmured to Jasper. "I've never heard Master Harry laugh before."

"That's coz he's too busy to laugh, worrying about keeping us all fed," Sophie, the solemn four year old stated. "Now that he's got money, he can finally stop and laugh."

Tom was transfixed, staring at him. The Master caught his eyes and green eyes sparkled with laughter. He refused to believe he was blushing.


	4. Intent

**Incredibly drabbly and absolutely filled with plotholes.**

* * *

When Harry Potter was eight years old and the occasional Dudley playground victim because she swung higher on the swing than him, or had people actually willing to push her on the merry-go-round, she discovered that she could make injuries go away until she could deal with them properly.

It was all about intent, she thinks on it later when someone asks her. It's all about asking properly, like setting a dentist's appointment. Except, the wound didn't really like staying away and was really insistent about getting their appointment. She clocked her maximum for two weeks, before she passed out with a headache.

It was a useful skill to have, especially when she was slicing chicken and didn't need to deal with her blood getting in the chicken too on top of an Aunt Petunia that watched her like a hawk. She didn't really think it was anything abnormal, per se. She just found it weird that other people didn't know how to ask properly.

Hermione, once she heard about the comparison, looked bemused.

"Harry," she said after seeing a knife-wound vanish and hearing the subsequent explanation. "Most people don't really want to go to dentists. Like, the number of people that are punctual about their appointments are very rare."

Hermione ought to know, being the daughter of a dentist couple.

"I think you mean Wedding Planners," Hermione eventually conceded. "Mum always says that her sister got the short-end of the stick in getting careers because brides were nightmares that demanded the impossible."

Harry blinked at that and gave her a point. "Okay, so the wounds are brides."

(Strangely, McGonagall, after hearing this comparison, guffawed.)

Quidditch-related injuries were more difficult to go away however. They were larger, for one, and had more complications. Concussions, she realized after one experiment gone wrong, were impossible to give a reschedule. Broken bones took more concentration. Blood loss was something she couldn't ask since her body seemingly didn't classify it as injury, more of an anomaly.

So she settled for injuries that broke skin.

Once she'd mastered that, she realized that she could, in fact, transfer injuries of other people on herself. Again, it was a matter of asking.

This was about the time that Ginny got dragged into it, because Hermione felt that she needed more people on her side. Harry had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"Just," Hermione struggled. "It's like this; you don't like seeing me hurt. If you flip that, I don't like seeing you hurt. Can you please…stop helping people?"

Ginny nodded earnestly, though she looked a little bewildered why she nodded.

"Angelina had a sprain," Harry points out. "She had to go home for Christmas, her parents would have worried. So I helped out."

This somehow caused Hermione to worry even more.

"The little things," Hermione stated slowly. "Are how this thing starts. And the next time someone gets a broken bone, you're going to do it too. No, Harry. You are not swaying me from this."

Ginny finally spoke up. "It's like you don't like yourself," she added. "Because why do you hurt yourself? I mean, helping is nice and all, but you should have limits. Mum always said so."

Harry was finally swayed. Ginny and Hermione exchange looks that speak of complete determination.

(That year, she gets a nice care basket from Mrs. Weasley and a Weasley Jumper.)

When Professor Lupin comes along in Third Year, Harry was proficient enough in sensing injuries from other people that she felt ill whenever he was in the vicinity.

"What's wrong? He's the most competent DADA teacher we've ever had," Hermione said looking a bit concerned.

For the first time, Harry struggled to describe it. "He's like…he feels like two people. Not like Professor Quirrel. Professor Quirrel didn't feel sick, he just felt _wrong._ Lupin feels….he feels like two people fighting in one body and he's so _tired_ because it's just him against himself. Does that make sense?"

Hermione hummed and noted this down in her notebook. Meanwhile, Harry struggled not to strangle somebody or bash her head in just to get rid of the feeling.

Ginny, thankfully, brought around Luna Lovegood and Harry _loved_ her.

"I love your hair," Harry said, looking at the messy locks that tumbled this way and that. "And your earrings have personality."

Luna fixed the protuberant silvery eyes at her and smiled. "Your magic feels friendly."

They shared a smile, getting that strange certainty that both of them would be friends for life.

However, not even Luna is enough to distract Harry from Professor Lupin's condition. It distracted Harry in crucial times and she gets enough disappointed looks to last a lifetime.

It's around this time that the Hogsmeade visits start and Harry wanted to cry. It wasn't unfair, because fair was just a word and not something that didn't happen in real life. No, she just wanted Lupin to go away, or maybe deal with the other person inside him because his growls were distracting her.

After Harry inadvertently let that slip, Hermione said, "Aha!" and left for the library.

And then Sirius Black and the Fiasco of the Whomping Willow happened. She didn't even _like_ Ron Weasley, the prat. He was sometimes nice, being all brotherly, but that was just during Christmas, when all his friends were away and he somehow had to make nice with the girls. The rest of the year, he was a grade-A asshole.

"He's a werewolf," Hermione announced, looking ill and tired and bordering on hysteria.

Harry could feel how _ill_ both Lupin and Black were and she wanted to hurl. How strong their will must be, because if she felt _that_ , she knows she couldn't have the strength to get up from bed at all.

She was not special, no. She just feels things differently like how Luna sees things differently.

(She was suddenly so profoundly grateful for Luna, Ginny and Hermione and she doesn't know why.)

Fourth Year was when Harry suddenly has a word for it when she is facing a Nesting Mother Dragon and too far terrified that she's actually calm.

Aura sensing, Dumbledore had mentioned in passing, though he'd looked dubious. Harry was plenty dubious too, because Aura sensing was meant to just feel emotions, not feel the pain, and know how to ask to shift it, to move it back. Rescheduling.

She stuck to what she knows best. Really, everything was all about politeness. Politely asking the injury so she could have time to deal with other things. Like the fire-breathing dragon trying to roast her to Avalon eternal.

Madam Pomfrey was completely non-plussed when she had no injuries to speak of, but Harry knows she has them. She could feel them at the back of her mind, like the constant ring of an unanswered telephone.

Hermione had burst into tears at the sight of the lacerations at her back, when the _appointment_ had finally arrived.

"At this rate," Ginny remarked with her usual morbid humor. "I'm going to be better than Snape in brewing Dittany."

Harry pointedly gestured at the roll of bandages and cream. "I did have this stocked you know," she said loudly over Hermione's sniffling.

"What you have right now is too deep for the cream," Ginny argued. "Stop feeling noble."

Harry wasn't feeling noble. She was feeling practical.

Most things Harry did in life was to be practical. Politeness got things done faster, so she did it and learned, hey, so I can change when I have to deal with bleeding wounds.

Like how Harry was being practical when she asked Luna out to the Yule Ball.

"Me?" she clarified. "I have a sunflower yellow gown. Just so you know."

Harry had deep blue, and it wasn't a problem.

It wasn't a problem, though McGonagall did look a bit teary-eyed when both of them had waltzed through.

It wasn't a problem, even if most of the pureblood men glared hostility at Luna whenever the younger girl pranced to her side in her usual floaty manner.

Things were lovely, until that bloody portkey and she could _feel_ the rush of The Void heading towards Cedric Diggory. She couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, as the sickly green jet of light struck the kind boy and he was sucked into The Void.

 _So that's how the Killing Curse worked,_ she mused dazedly as she was tied to the tombstone. _It's not an injury. Death doesn't hurt. It's not something that is supposed to hurt. That was simply…disconnection._

Harry chewed on that even more, even as she glared the injury Pettigrew carved into for four days away.

She knows she can't push The Void into a reschedule. She also knows she can't avoid getting killed.

But, something that Hermione had talked her into trying niggled at her.

 _Sharing_ the bookworm had called it. Sharing the pain, so that Harry didn't have to suffer alone. Because all three of her friends were awesome women and didn't like watching her bleed.

So when Voldemort had untied her, Harry didn't dodge the jet of green light, the rushing, yawning emptiness that beckoned. She opened her arms wide and _shared._

And it was difficult, completely difficult, because this was supposed to be theory only. Something to try on a rainy day. In a way, it was also easier, because The Void _wanted_ to be shared. It wanted to touch people. Everyone already had a touch of The Void in them and Harry just…encouraged it.

She drifted, a bit confused and Luna was there for a moment, looking the most serious she had ever seen.

"You ought to make a choice you know," the blonde said solemnly. "It's not healthy for a body, for you to wander around like this."

Somehow, and she didn't know how, Harry understood that she needed to decide between going and staying. The Void beckoned, really and the appeal was there.

She wasn't tired, per se. But she was really curious about her parents. She wanted a moment to talk to them.

Luna gave her that small, secretive smile though and Harry decided she had to see more of it.

And she inhaled a couple more breaths and _asked._

* * *

Later, when Harry was asked about the Graveyard, all she would say was, "I had an epiphany."

 _Healing_ , Harry mused in the privacy of her room. _Was absolutely terrifying_.

.

* * *

 **Based on an insane tumblr post I found.**

 **Review.**

 **~hallen**


	5. The Marauders Wall of London

**The Maraduers Wall of London**

 **.**

"We can make a map of London," Peter pipes up.

Everyone turns to him and the shy man turns red.

James and Sirius would usually break out into sarcasm by this point, but since this is the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, the four friends are eager to prove their worth despite being younger than all the other participants. Remus is strategically placed to step on toes anyway to prevent ill-timed comments.

"A map of London?" Fabian Prewett asks. "What good would that do?"

Peter is too shy to answer him, but Remus comes to his rescue. Remus is good with that.

"I think I understand what you mean, Wormtail," the werewolf says instead of answering the redhead. "But the only reason we were able to make a map of Hogwarts was because we explored it – every inch of it."

Minerva Mcgonagall can't help the snort that escapes her and all four mischief makers turn to look at her with involuntary guilt.

"No," she says, amusement in her voice. "It's just nice to have a theory proven right. Go on. This is interesting. It's wonderful to see you boys applying your education in…creative pursuits."

They all blush. They can't help it. It's only been a few months since graduation.

"A map of London," Dumbledore muses. "It would be great tactical advantage of course despite several houses being Unplottable."

Sirius looks confused. "It's not just that. If we do it right, it would show everyone in the map. It's a map that never lies."

There is astounded silence at that.

"Do you mean to tell me," Edgar Bones says eventually. "That you four managed to make a Hogwarts version of that?"

Sirius shrugs modestly. James can't help a snort of laughter at that and Remus's shoulders are already shaking. Peter is quiet, but then again, Peter is always quiet.

"But it'll take an enormous amount of work," Remus adds. "We managed to do Hogwarts through two years of exploration. London…is bigger. But we'll have plenty more free time."

"I don't think we can use parchment this time," James muses. "The logistics alone…maybe a wall? Which wall, do you think?"

As one, the Marauders look to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, who is watching the boys with fondness.

"You can use the Order safehouse," he answers the unspoken question. "And while the war will no doubt need your invention, do take care of yourselves."

.

Peter, though not really artistic, volunteers to draw the initial outline of it, scaled down to parchment size.

They all remembered this part, though it had been Remus's steady, accurate hands that had sketched the final outline. Sirius's handwriting is still the best among all of them because despite James sharing the same Pureblood lessons in calligraphy, Sirius just seemed to have more patience in writing out elaborate curls and etches in the letters.

James, because he's an overachieving arse despite being too embarrassed to share it, does the starting runes on the parchment. Written in visible ink this time and not invisible ink because they needed a trial run on the parchment.

When the other three boys take a look at Peters work, they _gape._

"Bloody hell," Sirius exclaims. "You've been holding out on us, Wormy."

Peter flushes to the roots of his hair and looks at his almost complete map of London.

"I…I explored London a lot before Hogwarts," he explains. "I know it's still incomplete but…"

He cuts himself off as James and Sirius, in unison, hug him on either side. Peter manages not to squeak too loud. He ends up laughing, with Remus's manly giggles egging him on.

"This will cut down work by a couple of months at least," James says, eyes checking out the parchment. "This is amazing, Wormtail."

"I always knew you had it in you," Sirius remarks.

Remus smacks the both of them. "That's enough," he says. "Back to work…and Peter? Thank you."

Given that Remus only uses their real names when he's really happy, Peter works not to hyperventilate.

.

It's a modified version of the mirror image spell that they cast on the parchment. When the first people start moving around in their smaller version, Sirius whoops in glee, waking up the rest of the Marauders that had all fallen asleep on their own parts of the parchment.

"Padfoot," Moony groans. "Shut up!"

"It works!" Sirius crows, ignoring the murderous glares from three people, one of them a werewolf. "Up, you lot! It works!"

It's enough of an incentive to make them move. Peter, in particular, having no physical exercise, balked at moving too much.

And then they catch sight of the parchment.

"Morgana's tits!" James exclaims, earning an automatic scowl from Remus. "That's just one side, but this proves we're not just chasing phoenixes."

Remus starts smiling and it catches. All of them are dizzy with jubilation.

"This calls for some firewhisky," Sirius announces. "I'll go fetch it, James, the snacks."

Remus exchanges an exasperated look with Peter. While Sirius is good for many things, like pulling everyone from getting too serious and James takes care of everyone else, Remus and Peter usually end up taking care of what the other two forgets. Namely, details.

"Let's put this aside then," Peter says. His voice is smiling but he is trying his best to be stern. It's a good look on him. "Before James dares Sirius something stupid and we'll lose everything."

Remus laughs, agreeing.

.

The spare patch of wall, one of the many walls in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, is a pretty good one, all things considered. It had no cobwebs, no cracks and no mold. The _sheer size_ of the thing, however, made all four of them balk.

"By Merlin," James protests. "That will take us weeks."

"Months," Remus corrects. "Maybe a year?"

For a moment, they pressed closer in solidarity.

"We can always ask for help?" Peter queries. "It's not our secret anymore, is it?"

Peter turns red under all the attention, scowling at them. "Well, it's not, is it?" he says defensively. "We made The Map to prove that we could. And this is so we can help."

Sirius looks like he wants to protest, but Remus steps on his toes. Everyone sees it anyway, no need to discreet. It's much harder to step on toes subtly when they're all wearing jeans. Peter doesn't mind. He has long since resigned himself to the fact that Sirius's brain-to-mouth filter is spotty at best and non-existent at worst.

"We can ask Lily," James volunteers, predictably. "She's in-between projects right now and this would just fascinate her."

"Marlene and Mary would help," Remus says. "Mary, in particular, likes doing detail work."

It's an agreement and they all disperse. Peter watches the three of them go and goes to fetch the ink supplies and the paint.

He places old cloth at the bottom of the wall, and stools around it. By the time the rest of them arrive, Peter has brewed enough hangover potions to go around. His charms might be abysmal but his potion's work has always been very good.

"You're heaven-sent, Wormy," Sirius sighs, downing his bottle and immediately groaning in relief.

"I don't like that nickname," Lily announces, as opinionated as ever. "Why do you call him such a degrading thing? I understand inside jokes, but sometimes, you take things too far, Black."

Sirius just glares at her. James sighs, stuck in between, as usual. He sends a beseeching look towards Remus and the werewolf helpfully steps in.

"Okay, so listen up," Remus says. "We've called you in for some help. This is The Wall – " he gestures towards the intimidating expanse of brick and clay – "And this is our project. Peter, show them the drafts."

Peter helpfully supplies the drafts with the mirror charm. They had survived the minor celebration and were showing a small part of London.

Marlene, probably the only one who wandered around London among the girls, recognizes it immediately.

"Merlin's pants!" she exclaims. "And you're doing it to that wall?"

The look of apprehension she shoots The Wall makes Peter sympathetic.

"We'd better get started," Lily says. There is a grim determination in her face that Peter recognizes from O.W.L. and N.E.W.T.S. It's the face of a person headed to war.

.

Once the major charms work is finished, the only thing to be done is a lot of walking, and precision in scaling it down to Wall-size.

"You know," Evans says thoughtfully as she looks at her draft. "If we weren't magical, this would take even longer. We can just apparate to where we left off."

James gives her a besotted look and Remus and Peter exchange look of immense pain. Ever since Evans had relented and allowed James within five feet of her, it had gotten disgusting pretty quickly.

On the other hand, Sirius might never forgive Evans for taking James's attention away. Remus finds it hilarious. Peter thought it was just plain awful.

"We're halfway done though," Remus says excitedly. "He gestures to the Wall, where the stark black lines were painted in neat precision. "Thanks to Peter."

They all clap him in the back in congratulation. Peter blushes and tries not to turn too red.

"That's it though," quiet, thoughtful Mary McDonald says. "How do you know so much of London, Pettigrew?"

He manages to hide his flinch rather well. But everyone is watching and Remus's hand is a warm support hovering by his elbow.

"My parents are always working," he manages to say. "And I walked around a lot."

It satisfies his friends, though the girls are still suspicious. That's what Peter always appreciates about them.

"Let's all take a break," Sirius announces when he scans through everything. "Else we'd be too tired to continue mapping tomorrow."

There's a rush as everyone hides away the drafts and wipes away spilled ink. Remus hurriedly saves the quills before Marlene could enthusiastically crush them with her parchments.

"I'll drop you home," Remus tells him. "You look wiped, Peter."

He manages a smile at the werewolf. "I'm not made for that much walking nowadays."

Hand in hand, they appear in Peter's apartment, dismantle the traps and drop their bags.

"Come on," Remus urges. "Let's get you to bed. I bet your feet are killing you."

Peter glares blearily at him. "I hate you. Immensely."

Freaking werewolf constitutions.

Remus's smile is dry. "No you don't. I love you this tired though. You always get so sarcastic." He pulls off Peter's shoes one at a time, almost falling on his arse.

Peter ignores this, grabbing the him by the shoulders and pulling him along the sofa. "Stay," he says. "Just for a bit. I know you've got time."

The werewolf doesn't hesitate, though he does go a bit stiff.

"Peter," he sighs. "It's the full moon tomorrow. I need to get ready."

The rat animagus doesn't say anything else and Remus half-shoves, half-carries him to the bed. Peter curls up on the bed, muscles aching and tries to pretend that he doesn't feel the ache of the loneliness even more.

.

In another time, Peter Pettigrew would have been neglected by his friends.

In another time, Remus Lupin would have been recruited by Albus Dumbledore to infiltrate the werewolf camps. His absence would have accelerated the fall of the Marauders.

In another time, Sirius Black would hear his little brother's involvement among the Death Eaters and turn cold and cruel. Remus isn't there to turn him to better thoughts.

In another time, James Potter would focus on starting his own little family and forget the little details, all for the Greater Good.

But this time, the project for the Marauder's Wall of London gathered together the four friends in a way that was slightly reminiscent of their Hogwart's projects, be they pranks or school work.

James and Sirius weren't the sort to really notice details, but that's what Remus was for.

"Peter's getting thinner," he tells the other two while mixing paint. "I'm starting to worry."

Both of them exchange glances. Remus isn't the sort to worry either. Peter is more the type to worry over something until it bled out.

"A new diet?" Sirius tries jokingly. The piercing glare he gets makes him subside. James turns his complete attention to Remus.

Marlene had once said that being on the receiving end of James Potter's complete attention was akin to being under the complete attention of a dragon. James was still, eyes on Remus and entire body focused on what was being said.

"There's something off," Remus continues. "It's….Peter's flinching more often. And he's…quiet."

Neither pureblood might have known the signs of abused children when they went to Hogwarts but they certainly got educated quickly. Especially thanks to Remus's mother, who had taken one look at Peter and known what she saw.

"I thought he got better?" Sirius asks. "He's pretty enthusiastic about this map, isn't he?"

All three boys go quiet, remembering Peter's laughter. It had been a rare thing to hear him laugh in Hogwarts and, after graduation, a near extinct thing to hear. It's quite upsetting to realize that you've forgotten how your friend's laughter sounded like.

"I'll ask my aunt," James says, that terrifyingly focused gaze turning inwards. "Maybe she can give me a discount for Peter. Remember what Remus's mum said? If he's regressing, something's frightened him. Frightened him badly."

Sirius breaks the grim, almost solemn discussion when his wand rings an alarm and he curses. "I have something to do in Diagon. Sorry. Let's do this tomorrow, and Peter's late anyway."

That's another point for worry. Peter's usually late, but never reaching two hours.

"He had a point, Remus," James says softly. "Maybe…"

The werewolf's eyes turns hard. "I'll check on him."

Before Remus could leave, James gives him a tight hug.

Both of them feel the weight of unsaid words. The Marauders are more than just a band of misfit friends. It is a brotherhood.

As they leave the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, none of them realize they'd never used the nickname "Wormtail" even once.

.

Remus smells the blood before he can reach the door and his mind jumps to conclusions, opening the door with a _bang!_

"Peter!" he cries. "Peter, where are you?!"

He finds no trace of his friend, but he follows the scent to the bathroom.

"Peter!" he tries again. "Open the door!"

There's a sob inside the bathroom that makes Remus's mind for him. Alohomora opens the door and Peter falls into him, trembling and shaking like a leaf.

"What – " he cuts himself off, suddenly unbearably angry. On the tiled floor behind Peter is a pile of bloody and dead rats. On the wall, moving like a beacon but painted with blood, is the Dark Mark.

Remus isn't a genius for nothing.

"Let's get James and Sirius," he says to the trembling rat animagus.

Peter doesn't let go – not that Remus would let him. He wraps his arms tighter around his friend and apparates out with a pop.

It's a miracle they don't splinch something

.

 **Decided to stop here since I lost inspiration. It's still a pretty good idea tho.**

 **Please review!**

 **~hallen**


	6. Afterwards

**Afterwards**

 **.**

* * *

The shaking happened when he woke up.

Harry figured he was too tired last night to really understand that he'd just stood in the way of the Killing Curse and not dodge.

The shaking started in his hands and extended towards the rest of his body and eventually affecting his breathing. Harry hiccuped a little unwillingly and before he knew it, he let loose a sob. That proved to be a precursor before the rest followed, feeling like they were pulled from him.

Realizing he really just ought to let it out, Harry grabbed a pillow and let out great shuddering sobs into the soft material.

He, Harry James Potter, had committed suicide via Voldemort's Killing Curse.

Perhaps other people would like to call it better things, like _sacrifice_ and _prophecy fulfillment_. He knew Ron and Hermione, once they came to terms with it too, would think differently.

Yesterday, all three of them were too tired to really _think._ In the light of the sun, everything seemed clearer.

And Harry still didn't understand why he was shaking.

Abruptly, the curtains around the four-poster bed was pulled back and Neville was looking down at him with sympathy.

"Sorry I disturbed you," Harry managed, realizing that he'd had to have been alerted by crying.

Neville sighed, sat down and engulfed Harry in a tight embrace. After the surprise wore off, Harry returned it, the shaking subsiding a little.

Neville felt wonderful, like a mountain that could hold him and not stumble. In that moment, Harry realized _why_ Godric's sword came out for him.

"No need to apologize," Neville said softly. "You did something stupid again, didn't you?"

Hah, understatement of the century. Anybody seeing him not duck under that curse would call it stupidity.

"Yeah," he whispered, throat feeling raw.

"Realizing how terrified you should be afterwards is usually how these things happen," Neville said in a matter-of-fact voice. He pulled away and just patted Harry's shoulder carefully. "I had to break out some first years from the Carrow's dungeons a lot this year. Afterwards, I had to stay away while I just…"

"Broke down," Harry finished quietly, suddenly understanding.

Of course Neville understood. When the adrenaline and the exhaustion wore off, all that was left was fear. And then you were empty.

They just sat there for a while, before Neville asked one of the house-elves for chocolate.

"And then?" Harry asked, nibbling on his chocolate.

Neville smiled at him. "And then we go looking for friends." To fill in that emptiness.

With effort, Harry stood up and allowed Neville to herd him out of the dorm.

.

He found Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall and he felt his chest expand at the sight.

Hermione was reading a book, this time for pleasure instead of that dire, dreadful urgency that had harrowed and brought lines on her face as she scanned the pages.

Ron ate beside her, contemplating a chessboard and occasionally prodding the pieces when they attempted mutiny. Since their last game had been under the influence of a Horcrux, Ron had avoided the chessboard so seeing him in front of one made Harry smile.

Neville was right.

"Good morning," Harry greeted.

Both of them looked up and smiled.

.

* * *

 **Because it was suicide. No matter what-ever-the-loving-fuck Dumbledore called it, it was SUICIDE.**

 **And I'm still not over it.**


	7. An Alternative to Experlliarmus

**The prompt was: I've always kinda wanted an AU where Harry isn't the hero, where he's not the one who ends Voldemort once and for all but Ginny or Draco (I don't know how this would happen, but yeah... yeah.) or Mcgonnagal or even a centaur or an acromantula or just... someone/thing other than Harry?**

 **.**

* * *

Harry stared at Dumbledore, before a smile crept up his face. He quickly quashed it, no need for the headmaster to get suspicious, after all.

"I can tell my friends then?" he repeated, letting the relief seep out of his words. "Thanks, Professor. Keeping secrets is such a burden alone."

The old man smiled indulgently. Harry didn't spare him a bit of thought. He raced through the hallways and sighed with relief when he saw his friends were still awake.

"Hermione, I need your help," he announced.

Ron looked up and Hermione closed her book – more like a tome, really – and gave him their full attention.

Quickly, with halting phrases and words tumbling over each other that would have made explanations indecipherable if they didn't know him so well, he told them about the horcruxes.

Their expressions were revolted but their faces were determined.

"There's a spell we could try," Hermione said. "Something about purifying souls. It might not be a good thing to try it on Harry though. He's a living receptacle of…"

She went off on tangents and Harry turned to Ron.

As expected, his redheaded friend frowned inwardly. "We could try Bill or Charley. I mean, if what Hermione says is right and that the Horcrux might be more easily damaged than humans, so it would have to have a lot protections. I mean, I would do that if I had one, as well as surround it with a lot of curses. Aside from fiendfyre, the only fire I know that's more destructive would be dragon fire."

Like clockwork, both his friends raced off. Hermione to check some facts in the Library and Ron to write to his siblings. It was a good thing that Bill was reassigned in Gringotts, Britain, but Charley was in Romania. That was a long way for an owl to fly.

"You'll be alright, Harry," Ron patted him as the owls flew off. "We're with you. And if all else fails, Hermione can always do fiendfyre on Voldemort."

Harry knew Hermione was brilliant and a bit scary, but when did she master that? He shut his gaping jaw with a click.

"She what?" he asked weakly.

Ron shrugged. "Okay, so with everything so tense and all that, and you're in detention every other week or something, so she got….determined. And she asked the house-elves where she could practice spell-work without disturbing anybody. I dunno mate. She just came up to me suddenly, smelling something awfully burned and announced she could already control fiendfyre."

Hermione really was terrifying. Terrifyingly brilliant and he was so lucky she was on his side.

"Okay," Harry gulped. "Wow. What about you? Anything you want to spring on me? Did you somehow manage to become an animagi while I was buried in detention with Umbridge?"

Ron smirked. "Well, mate. I managed to make my chess pieces dance the waltz. The queen only bears two turns though before she bludgeons the next one to death with her chair."

Harry was surprised into a laugh.

.

* * *

.

In the end, the silence in the Great Hall was deafening. Very much so.

After all, it wasn't Harry who killed Voldemort, though he did help in thinking like the Dark Lord and finding out where he would hide it next. Bill had sent them curse-breaking books and some notes. Charley had told them of one Dragon Reserve still in Britain that no one knew about, because all the keepers were dead. The only dragon left was an intelligent thing that helped burn horcruxes upon request and some careful offerings of cows.

Still, at the end of it, the one to fire the last curse wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, famous Chosen One and subject of a prophecy. Neither was it the sixth son of a Pureblood Family that descended from the time of Merlin, even if they were rather poor. The one to kill Voldemort was Hermione Granger.

She casted the fiendfyre and, even through the ensuing screams of fear and terror, killed the Dark Lord.

There really was a reason why it was called cursed fire.

"Bloody hell," Ron cursed, a bit exhausted at having to maneuver the Dark Lord into firing range and keeping the runes powered, so there were no casualties from Hermione's spell.

"Bloody buggering…" Harry trailed off, just as exhausted.

And then people started to celebrate, though they gave Hermione a wide berth.

The three of them were an island of their own, somehow separated from the screams of laughter and the hysterical sobs of reunited relatives.

"I need a vacation," Hermione told them, eyes jumping around. Harry understood how she felt. Being surrounded after a year spent running and being hunted was uncomfortable.

"Bahamas?" Harry volunteered.

Ron shrugged. "There's a vacation resort in Egypt," he told them.

"My parents first," Hermione argued.

They staggered off, arms around each other with smiles on their faces. People still avoided them.

.

 **Please Review**


	8. At the Other end of the Wishing Well

**At the Other End of the Wishing Well**

 **.**

* * *

When the area around him flares in a familiar color, Harry just sighs.

"Seriously?" he says, looking up. He doesn't bother to be too alarmed that he is no longer in his living room.

The scene around him changes and he tucks his trashy paperback into his pocket firmly.

"Yeah?" he asks who is obviously his summoner, black all and hands dripping with blood. It's such a cliché image that he wants to roll his eyes. He doesn't, if only because Aunt Petunia taught him better manners than that, when she wasn't screeching at him for existing.

"You, who is Death incarnate! I abjure thee to destroy this world! Destroy it, for it has destroyed mine!" the obviously delusional summoner screams.

Harry wants to gape. His summoner is a lunatic. How did he scramble enough brain cells to manage it? (And who uses the word 'abjure' these days anyway?)

"Err, just to clarify," Harry says, feeling a bit unnerved. "You want me to burn down the planet?"

Emphatic, vigorous nodding.

"Burn to the core, with you in it?" he points out.

Quick nods, a pause, and then, "No, no. Wait till I leave the planet."

Ah, one of those impulsive ones then.

"I'll give you ten minutes," Harry concedes, utterly resigned to this sort of thing. "And then I'll start."

The summoner blanches, and then scrambles to gather his belongings. Harry nabs an ancient, archaic book and easily finds where he got the runes from. The picture in it makes him pause.

" _Death or it's master_ ," Harry reads out loud with increasing dismay. " _Is the most powerful being in this universe, or perhaps in several multiverses. To summon him requires immense power. No person has survived his summoning._ "

It's a picture of him, carrying a staff and looking like he'd been dropped into one too many meetings without coffee.

Why in Merlin's name would he be carrying a staff? And who made this book anyway? His first few summoners were people who did it by accident.

A quick look to the back has him groaning.

G. .

G. _Weasley_.

 _George Weasley_.

Merlin fucking _dammit_.

"That complete arse," Harry swears.

He checks that the summoner is off-planet, and then swipes downward, making the molten core overheat and destroying layers and layers of dirt. Within two blinks, the planet is a magma. It's not a complete destruction, but there are worst things.

He sighs again, checks that he hasn't dropped anything, and then reverses the summoning. He drops back to his armchair and restrains the impulse to just chuck the entire book into the fire.

The first few times he got summoned in Death's stead was an accident. It seems that this one is deliberate.

It would be a difficult thing to restrain the impulse to simply hit him in the head with the book, but strangling him is sounding better and better.

.

* * *

.

The next time he gets summoned, Harry is drinking an espresso and almost late for work.

When a circle of light surrounds him, it takes supreme effort not to throw a tantrum.

"Get on with it!" he snarls to the woman who's just opening her mouth.

"Uhm, be my companion as we rule this galaxy?" she asks, completely cowed by the show of temper.

Harry wants to toss the steaming hot espresso in her face just to see if the lines there were painted on or were natural. Mostly, though, he just wants to stop curbing his impulses and goes with things. Like the urge to slap her.

What part of ' _get on with it_ ' did people not understand?

"Rejected," he says flatly. "Next."

She looks stunned. "I need to rule this galaxy! I cannot do so without someone to stand by my side and bring the people to their knees!"

Ah, sexist society then.

"I'll give you godlike powers," he says. "The speed of a mountain lion and the strength of ten men."

When she nods, he snaps his fingers and reverses the summoning before she can ask for anything else.

He's still late for work though.

Fucking summoners.

.

* * *

 **Please Review!**


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